


Separate Lives

by sparepartsandbrokenhearts



Category: Holby City
Genre: CampWolfe, F/F, berena - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparepartsandbrokenhearts/pseuds/sparepartsandbrokenhearts
Summary: One-shot thoughts on Serena and Bernie leading separate lives. Therapy for my current angst. Based on my Berena playlist; the song that inspired me is "Separate Lives" by Phil Collins.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ~~ You called me from the room in your hotel  
> All full of romance for someone that you met  
> And telling me how sorry you were, leaving so soon  
> And that you miss me sometimes when you're alone in your room  
> Do I feel lonely too? ~~

Plush white bed linen, rose petals scattered across the pillows, and an ice bucket of champagne on the bedside table. Every romantic cliché is on display at the Hampton by Hilton Bristol. Bernie Wolfe smiles slightly, rolling her eyes at the sight before her, a short shake of the head. 

“It looks like a Hallmark card has vomited onto the bed,” she says loudly.

“Well, I wanted it to be special,” replies Alex from the bathroom.

This is their romantic getaway weekend from all things Holby. Alex has treated them to a stay in the penthouse suite at the Hampton, despite Bernie's protests that it's a waste of money and they can have a “special” weekend at home “with a good bottle of whisky and a Chinese takeaway.” 

Bernie smiles again, a small, sad smile, one full of regret and guilt. She exhales and moves to the bed, lying down with an exhausted sigh. Alex opens the bathroom door, steam escaping like clouds of smoke.

“Right, shall we go down to the bar?”

“I could do with forty winks.”

“Okay,” Alex responds, eyeing Bernie for a moment. She turns, grabs her phone and purse from the dresser table, and makes to exit.

“You have forty, I'll have a double. Come down when you've had your nap,” and with a wink, Alex is out of the door, leaving a trail of perfume scent behind her.

Bernie closes her eyes, but sleep does not come. It's a convenient lie fuelled by an urge to do something much riskier but irresistable. The phone is sat neatly next to the champagne, these two tempting twins, one surely encouraging the other. She grabs a glass. 

~~

“And a teaspoon of cumin, et voila!” 

“Smells delightful, darling,” says Serena, uncorking a bottle of merlot from the wine rack. 

“I try,” replies Robbie, wearing a tartan apron with a checkered tea towel thrown across his shoulder. 

“Ainsley Harriott eat your heart out,” and with a wink Serena exits the kitchen, large glass of vino in hand. 

She walks into the hallway, the smile vanishing from her face. She leans against the wall, hand steadying her, closing her eyes. The pain, a longing buried deep inside her chest, is too much to bear sometimes; Robbie tries to charm her, knowing too well he is fighting a losing battle against the ghost of someone else. The quips and compliments that trip off his tongue suffocate her when they should delight her; frequently she finds herself trying to escape him, seeking solace in other rooms, knowing full-well this state of play can't go on much longer. 

The phone pierces her torment, a shrill ring. 

“Can you get that, love?” shouts Robbie from the kitchen, now blasting “You Sexy Thing” from the kitchen iPod dock. 

Serena hesitates a moment before closing the door between kitchen and hall, and gently she lifts the receiver. 

“Serena.”

That low purring voice. Unmistakeable. Still now, months since the end – not that it ever really started – that purr sends a shiver of pleasure down Serena's spine. She tries to remain calm.

“Bernie, I--”

“No, no. Don't speak. Just let me--”

“Why?” Serena growls, anger and yearning laced into her words, “what else is there to say?” 

“I just want to tell you...” she trails off.

“What, Bernie? Just to tell me you've been drinking? I can tell that from your tone, it won't make the front page news.”

“I just... wanted to ask how you are.”

“Why? What difference would it make?”

“None but... I'm lonely tonight.” A pause. “I miss you.”

“Tell that to Alex. Tell Alex that you're lonely,” Serena stammers.

“I'm lonely for you,” Bernie's voice croaks, trying to hold back the tears.

Serena leans against the wall once more, forehead pressed to the brick, as if doing so will stop all hurt coursing through her veins, all tears from breaching her eyes. But it won't; she winces, and a small cry escapes from her lips.

“Don't, please, don't,” cries Serena, trying to keep her voice low, “I can't bear this. You can't keep calling here.”

“But--”

“No, Bernie, no. How I am is no longer your concern,” her voice quivers, “you have no right to ask me how I feel.”

“Does he ask you how you feel? Does he ask you what would make you feel better?”

“In his way,” she lies, “he has his own way of doing things. It's none of your business, you had your chance--”

“Chance?” interjects Bernie, voice rising with an angry tone, “what chance did I have? I come back, I come back for you and find you shagging him!”

“That isn't fair! I can't keep having this same argument, round in circles every time, Bern, where does it get us? I didn't want you to go. I sat in that office, night after night, listening to the sniggers and the whispers, goodness even Jason heard the rumours! No emails, no texts, no calls... and then I hear from Hanssen that you had chosen to stay on. You feel lonely? You have no idea, Major.”

Bernie is silent, her head swimming with all the ifs and buts, the what-could-have-beens, the if onlys. She swallows hard, wipes the tears from her eyes.

“I know... and now I have to watch you with him.”

“And you with her.”

~~

Bernie hears a keycard swipe and the clink of bottles outside the door.

“Well if you can't come to the bar, the bar will come to you!” says Alex cheerily as she enters with more champagne.

“Started without me?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.

Bernie has already replaced the receiver and is refilling her glass.

“Aye aye, let's get the party started!” she says, raising her glass, eyes watery. 

“Darling, are you alright?” 

“I'm perfectly fine.”

~~


End file.
